Maxing out
Weightlifting training is like writing. You’re building a body of work, punctuated by small wins.
This week I did a PR.
I maxed out.
That is, I lifted an amount of weight I had not lifted before using a specific lift, for a single rep.
It was in the strict, or military press. It involves holding the barbell on your clavicle and pushing it up until your arms are straight. The catch: you can’t use your legs to generate momentum. It’s all upper body.
It is a horrible lift - definitely not my favourite - but strangely satisfying.
PR-ing is a big deal in weightlifting. The single rep PR is a measure of improvement. Additionally, once we know our PR, or 1 rep max, we can then program our training. We are usually given sets of exercises that require lifting a percentage of our max.
For example, three sets of power cleans, performed five times each set, with a load of 75% of our PR.
Or, 3 x 5 @ 75%.
So your program is dictated, somewhat, by your maxes.
Weightlifting is nothing, if not numbers.
It’s not just about the number though.
When someone is attempting a max at Atletika everyone stops what they are doing and goes quiet. As the lifter prepares to approach the bar there are murmurs of encouragement.
Come on.
Let’s go.
No screaming. No yelling.
Just quiet, respectful support.
The lifter attempts the lift. If they succeed, there are nods of congratulations and some measured whooping. If they miss the lift, there are no recriminations, no large sighs of disappointment. Just a quiet return to work, with a nod of encouragement.
I like to think of these moments as fleeting segments of golden warmth, when your quiet endeavour is noted and appreciated for that short period of time. You feel carried along by your fellow lifters, even though you are attempting a very solitary act that only you can complete or fail.
Single lift PRs are common - in that they are a normal part of weightlifting - and yet rare. They are carefully programmed by Coach Ricky. He doesn’t program them every session, or even every week. Your body would probably not thank you, and you’d quickly lose faith.
You also need to have followed the program leading up to that maximal attempt in order to put yourself in the best position to hit it. Given my injuries, and my impatience, I have not set a max record for a while. I haven’t even attempted a max.
(I’m still scarred after having seen ‘Back Squat Max’ on the program one day and deciding to give it a crack, despite being on holidays in the two weeks preceding. Bye bye meniscus).
I actually went to training on Wednesday because I knew the max was on the program. I have not been going to that session because I have my practical PT session that evening. Doubling up on training sessions did not do me any favours previously.
But I wanted to give it a try. I knew I needed some kind of win. Some sign that I was improving, that all the upper body stuff I’d done while being “off legs” was worth it.
I lifted 3kg more than my previous best. 33kg. I tried for 35kg but got stuck half way up. I was disappointed, but also happy about that 3kg.
It’s not a great amount of weight, in the scheme of things. When I pointed this out to my sister-in-law she said:
“Why would you even say that? Put that shit away!” THAT weight means you’re going to be able to reach above your head in ten years. THAT weight means you’re going to be able to paint a bedroom wall. THAT weight means you’re going to be able to carry groceries into the house”.
She’s right.
Progress in weightlifting is, like the rest of life, not linear. It takes consistency, time, and patience. There is a broomstick at Atletika (new lifters use broomsticks to learn technique) with “Be patient” written on it. When I noted it aloud Ricky said he had written it because a particular lifter wanted to get onto the bar immediately, and they needed to learn technique first. The lifter needed a reminder.
Weightlifting training is like writing, in that you’re building a body of work, punctuated by small wins. You’re not writing a book every day. (I can’t even produce a half-decent newsletter every week). It’s about assembling small pieces of effort. Some of which you may use, some of which you may feel is useless but all of it contributes to creating something of worth. If you don’t put the work in, it’s impossible to create that small, gleaming personal best, that one-rep max, that finely turned sentence.
I’m still learning this.
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